


I Think I Wanna Marry You & Other Bad Ideas...

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Competition, Escalation, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2042934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt, "Marry Me? -Sherlock"</p>
<p>Whilst searching for cases in a local newspaper, the dynamic duo discover disturbing and delightful happenings... which leads to competition between the Holmes siblings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Oooh, how about this one… ten found dead, six women, two men, two children. Exact same times of death, not poison, all in different corners of the same state, pattern forms a crescent moon when locations are linked. Police are baffled. Sound like fun?" John said, shaking the newspaper slightly with a loud snapping sound.

With a loud sigh, Sherlock wiggled in his armchair a moment and tilted to the side before responding, “No.”

The top of the newspaper sagged to reveal an unimpressed looking John Watson, M.D., who likewise tilted his head. “No? What is ‘No’ about this case?” 

"Too easy. Related to the secret society of lunaris, still active at current, believe that the moon goddess will tear down this earth. They were poisoned, but not at this time… autopsy should confirm that all the bodies were drained of blood and then frozen -as shown by cell ruptures. This was a staged event, members used frozen trucks to place the bodies in specific locations… making a point, but not a good one. Next?"

"Well, that’s sort of it, Sherlock. That’s everythi-…" John cut off mid-sentence, which naturally peaked the Consulting Detective’s interest. 

"What? John, don’t go silent on me, you know I hate that…" Sherlock of course referred to a recent case wherein a certain assassin had managed to get the drop on John, who had managed to lead to Sherlock almost halfway to their location in the underground catacombs of London by continuously talking… until Moriarty’s man had worked out what was going on and paralysed his vocal chords.

Sherlock would never admit this, but those had been some of the longest, most terrifying moments of his entire life.

"Sorry, Sherlock, I… it’s just… they did it. They finally did it… dammnit. Now I owe Lestrade a tenner…" sighed the ex-army medic.

"Owe Lestrade a-…? What are you even on about, John, speak plain English…" the consulting detective snapped, losing patience.

John, in fact, chuckled in response. ”Oh it’s just uh, a little bet that Greg and I had going… about… well it’s not important, but let us just say that for once Mycroft has beaten you to the punch in this area.” 

"John." his patience was fading fast, given the stringent need to know evident in his tone. 

Dr Watson sighed loudly, regretting choosing Mr Holmes out of so many potentials… but only a little… at times like this.

"They’re getting married, Sherlock! Greg and I had a bet about which one of your Holmes’ would ask us first, but you lost out to Mycroft for once…" John said, and flicked the newspaper back up, "Good luck to Lestrade, we should send them something congratulatory…"

-

A hand compressed the newspaper in his own, right down the middle… and all of a sudden, John was face-to-face with a determined Sherlock Holmes.

"John… Marry Me."

He nearly fell out of the chair, “Wait, what?” 

Sherlock rolled his brilliant blue eyes, “Marry Me, Me John… You, Me, Marriage…”

John snapped the newspaper up again, feigning disinterest to hide the way his heart was racing at the idea. “Sherlock, I am not going to marry you for the sake of some imaginary competition with your brother… now shoo, or I shall be forced to use this newspaper to bop you on the nose.”

"But Joooooooooooooohn, I swear I was going to ask you tonight, Mycroft merely beat me to the punch and I needed to ask you now…" Sherlock whined.

John dropped the newspaper. “You what, sorry? Repeat that last bit for me, slowly…”

"John Hamish Watson, tonight I was going to find a ruse to get you out of the house for approximately one hour at which point I would prepare a gourmet meal for two. Upon your return, I would show you inside, seat you and proceed to ask for you to join your life with mine in the surprisingly important but nonetheless arbitrary practice of marriage. However, Mycroft has made a game of it, and it seems I could ask you now… so, will you please marry me?" Sherlock said in a rush of words.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed and said firmly, “No.”

"No?" queried Sherlock.

"No." John confirmed. "I do not consent to marry you at this point in time, however if I go out to the pub for an hour from between five and six, and come home to find what you described… I am certain my mind and therefore answer, will have changed drastically should some tall, attractive, consulting detective ask me once again…"

"I see," replied the younger Holmes, glancing at the clock. "Well it would seem that you would need to get ready in haste, Dr Watson, for it is already quarter to five… and I have… preparations to make."

"Gladly," smiled John, pecking the Consulting Detective on the lips and rising to go change. 

"Fantastic," muttered Sherlock, rubbing his hands together with a pleased smile. "Operation: Holmes-Watson begins in fifteen minutes…"

-

When John returned home that night, he found a delightful scene awaiting; a cheery fire, a gourmet meal, a stunning man proposing to bind their lives together…

He couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed about the Skull taking pride of decorative place upon the table…

* * *

**~)0(~**

** The End **

————-


	2. Pound the Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secondary story to the Sherlock story... 
> 
> This was born of the prompt, "I Think I'm Forgetting Something -Sherlock".
> 
> Can be stand alone, but I wanted them together, they sort of ran on; especially since they both were requested by the same tumblr user.

"Sherlock, we need to go NOW," Lestrade shouted, running through the small flat in no small amount of panic trying to find the world’s only consulting detective. A high degree of urgency sent the man dashing through one room after another, even braving the highly-organised mess of the younger Holmes’ room in an attempt to locate the errant adult-sized child.

He paused outside the bathroom door, hearing the shower idly trickling and knocked. “Sherlock, are you in there? It’s no time to be showering, we have to go immediately!”

No reply.

Well, nothing verbal… there was, however, a strange sound of squelching echoing out through the partially ajar door. 

Praying to every god he was aware of, Greg begged them to not be walking into a room where he might be faced with a fully unclothed and therefore nude, Sherlock Holmes… he’d seen that sight already and it still took several drinks of hard whiskey to wash it from his memory. 

He stepped inside, and sighed in exasperation…greeted with the sight of a certain genius sitting in the bottom of the tub, shower lazily spraying on his head, saturating his bedclothes and robe.

Sherlock was cross-legged, elbow resting on his knees and fingers steepled together. He did not even acknowledge Greg’s presence until the Inspector leaned over and turned off the steady stream of water.

"Lestrade…?" 

"Yes Sherlock?"

"…why are you in my bathroom turning off my thinking water?"

Greg just stared at him, “Sherlock, please tell me you’re joking… or I will have a stroke… we have to get the hell out of here and you’re in saturated pyjamas!”

"I will have you know, Inspector, that what I was doing was of UTMOST importance to the case… I was using an ancient memory-stimulating technique, for I believe…" Sherlock paused, "I think I may be forgetting something, George… something important…"

Lestrade took a deep breath, and let it go, “It’s Greg, and yes… yes you are, now get up before I drag you out of there and strip you myself!”

"Well, Inspector, that does seem highly inappropriate seeing as we both have fiancées who are not one… another… OH," Sherlock trailed off.

"Yes OH you bloody idiot of a total genius, now get up, strip and towel off while I go find your suit… or we’ll be late!"

-

By the time he returned to the small bathroom, Sherlock was dry, naked and wrapped in a towel… sitting on the side of the tub with his head in his hands. God dammnit, this was going to run them SO LATE, now was not the time for an existential crisis… 

"Greg… Greg I’m getting married…" Sherlock said, incredulous.

"Yes, that would be the reason I’m standing here holding your suit while you’re having a ‘cold feet’ moment on the side of a bathtub…" he responded dryly. "Now suck it up and put these on… or Mycroft will get John to the wedding before we do, and then I’ll lose the bet we have going."

As he knew it would, the name of his brother spurred the genius into action; which also unfortunately meant the towel got the floor show and Greg saw all the rest. Well, certainly the brothers were gifted in many ways, they’d won the genetic lottery and how was that even fair?

It took moments for Sherlock to get ready, throw on the shoes Greg tossed at him and pin the small white flower in his lapel.

There was a minor argument about whether or not Sherlock should wear his favourite blue scarf, but eventually Greg conceded that if the consulting detective wanted to take his security blankie to the wedding… then he could take his security blankie to the wedding.

"Just get in the bloody car!" the Inspector shouted, dragging the genius down the stairs by the scruff and hoiking him out the door of 221 Baker Street. 

Sherlock immediately tried to go back inside, “Look, I really think I should meditate in the bathtub for at least another hour, Gregory…”

"And I think you should get in the bloody car, my ability to throw you into that car trumps your need to panic about this!" he shouted.

-

By the time they rolled up at the venue, the Holmes estate as it were, Greg was a shade away from throttling Sherlock…who had chattered incessantly on the way over and only just composed himself as he got out of the car.

-

As the wedding procession continued on inside, Mycroft sidled beside the Inspector and simply smiled smugly at him.

"You can shove it, you knew I’d lose… trying to get Sherlock ready is like herding cats, it’s fucking ridiculous, but I got him here." he growled low at the other. 

Mycroft gave him an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek, “Of course I did, but he was more likely to respond to you than take my direction. The bet may have been… an exaggeration of my desire to get you to perform that particular role, and it is true I knew you would not arrive before I had convinced John to get here… though that did take slightly more persuasion that I had initially anticipated.”

At a meaningful glance from Lestrade, Mycroft hurriedly responded, “Oh no, no, no… I promise you that I did drug him or have him dragged here, just normal pre-wedding jitters that were soothed away… with a mild sedative… that wore off before we arrived, I assure you. But in anycase, my dear silverfox, the bet was a sham and  acknowledge that you have worked harder than I so… you win this one…”

"So you mean you’ll…?" 

"Yes, but after the wedding, that we will miss if you don’t come inside right now…" Mycroft said as the wedding march started, only to glance sidelong at Greg and add, "Oh don’t be so lewd, there’ll be time enough for that later… come along."

Greg followed his husband inside, thinking that finally, after all this time… there was some payoff for wrangling the Holmes brothers.

He was so pleased he didn’t even bother to point out how pleasantly pharmaceutically tranquil John looked throughout the wedding…

* * *

**~)0(~**

**The End**

—-


End file.
